Word: familiar
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Dates: during 1870-1879
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...BRETHREN: These old familiar strains have set us in easy motion. The Spaniards have a proverb that 'leaving home is half the journey,' so much do they make of the start. But you are already on the threshold, and Harvard pilgrims, like those of Canterbury of long centuries ago, are quick to entertain themselves. Different men find many different attractions in a time like this, but I think we shall all of us agree that one of them, at least, is its evenness. The scales, elsewhere ascending and descending with great abruptness, here come to a quiet poise...
...also trochaic dimeters, we supposed, naturally enough, that the author had aimed at this throughout his poem; but here is the Courant talking of "this style of verse," as if it were something quite out of the common run, while the metre of the "Portrait" is most simple and familiar. We must, then, have mistaken the intention of the Lit.'s poet. Will the Courant kindly explain what the unusual metre is? The idea, however, of "A Counterfeit Presentment" is very pretty, and very well worked out. It may also be mentioned in this connection that the lines containing...
...frequently reminded in recitations of the emphatic statement of an instructor here, delivered in such a striking manner that it is impossible to forget it: "Gentlemen, this college is not a young ladies' boarding-school." I am inclined to doubt this assertion whenever I hear the familiar words, "You may omit the following passage"; but a look around the room, and the sight of N.'s imposing siders and T.'s incipient moustache convince me of its correctness. Then I wonder why the omission was made...
WHERE I had been it doesn't matter; but late at night I was crossing Jarvis Field on my way home, when suddenly I saw before me a tall white figure. I stared in amazement, for the figure looked strangely familiar, and I recognized that it was no other than the soldier from the top of the monument on the Common. "Heavens," thought I, "he has heard of the Harvard Rifle corps, and has come to join it." I was about to tell him that he had mistaken the time, when he silently beckoned me to follow him, and stalked...
Nicholas's voice is a rare one, full, rich, and uncultivated, yet very sweet withal. I remember that often, crossing the Public Garden, and hearing the familiar voice singing, under a Beacon Hill window, I have had the bad taste to sit down upon one of the benches to listen, and imagine myself in Italy hearing a lover serenade his lady. Once indeed, on a June morning, when the birds twittered and Nicholas sang so that I forgot my annual awaiting me, I followed him up and down, until, meeting a severely critical friend, I basely shielded myself by asserting...